


Mama, I'm in Love with the Criminal~

by sammydrinksdemonblood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammydrinksdemonblood/pseuds/sammydrinksdemonblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wesson is an FBI Agent who's attention has just been addressed to Dean Winchester, notorious murderer and thief. Sam needs to do his job, no matter what. He needs to take Dean down, and this time for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cocky Son of a Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read this fic, you need to watch this video; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0WveTzdfbM
> 
> The fic is based on this, and it's really beautiful. It does kinda give away the ending, so you can watch it after if you don't like spoilers.

Sam looked at his watch, and sighed. It was 11pm, and the lights were slowly shutting down in the building. He drained the last of his coffee - it was stone cold. He frowned and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, closing the file he was reading about some drugs bust shit he had to do the paperwork for - even though he wasn't even involved. An officer got killed, and they somehow managed to blame it on Sam. Sam pushed the chair away from his desk, grabbing his jacket from the back as he shut the file in his desk drawer, stretching a little as he walked out, closing the door and turning the lights out on his way out. He was too tired to even notice the name on the file.  _ **Dean Winchester.**_

When he got back home Jess was already asleep, and he took off his tie and slung it over the chair in their bedroom, followed by his shirt. He unbuckled his belt silently and took his suit pants off, putting them on a hanger and hanging them up in their closet. He pulled back the sheets and slid into bed beside Jess, his arms wrapping around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder and he closed his eyes, and tried to get some sleep.

Sam Wesson had a normal life. He grew up with his Mother and Father in Kansas, unfortunately his mother died in a house fire when he was a baby, but he still had his Dad. He'd always felt like a disappointment to his Dad, he wanted Sam to become a mechanic like him, the family business. Sam went to law school, and ended up as an FBI detective. Not too bad, actually. In his first year of law school he met Jess, and they fell in love and moved in together. A few months ago Sam proposed, and she said yes. She was just...she was perfect. He didn't know what he'd do without her. He woke up to the smell of bacon, and a wide grin spread across his face as he swung his legs along the side of the empty bed and padded into the little kitchen, scratching his bare chest as he sat in a stool alongside the countertop. He completely dwarfed it, and his feet reached the floor to the point where he may as well of been standing up. "Morning, Jess.." He yawned, smiling up at his fiancé who grinned back, looking up from the pan for a moment. "You sleep okay?" She asked and Sam nodded in reply, "Sorry I came in kinda late. This new case.." He shakes his head, "This guy, he's crazy. So get this," Sam looks up, running a hand through his tangled mop of hair, "Mail fraud, credit card fraud and grave desecrations. " Jess cringes, crinkling her nose up which Sam finds adorable, "Sweetie, not at breakfast. Here.." Sam holds out his plate and Jess spatulas on a fried egg, a couple pieces of bacon and some mushrooms, to which Sam smiles. Jess serves up her own and they eat together, discussing the day ahead.

He arrived at work bang on time, of course, and sat down his desk, raising an eyebrow at the stack of new paperwork on his desk.  _ **Winchester, Dean. Breaking and Entering.**_

This guy really just doesn't know when to stop, does he?

Sam jokes to himself, leafing through the file as he picks up his ID and tucks it in the pocket of his jacket, bringing the file with him as he walks down to his car, driving off to interview the witness' of this breaking and entering. Dean's face was watching him from the file the entire drive. The witness' had hardly any useful information, and what Sam took down he didn't think would be useful at all. Yes, it was the same man as the picture, No we're not any closer to finding him.  _Thank you_  for your time.

"Well that was a damn waste of my time.." Sam grumbled as he slammed the door to his car, firing the engine and pulling out of the house's driveway. On the 20-minute drive back to the office, he was thinking over the cases in his head. Grave Desecrations was the only one that bothered him, he's seen lots of fraud and burglars before. What's dead should stay dead, and stay buried. He shuddered a little, who the hell would dig up corpses? And from the reports, the bones were charred and covered in traces of Sodium Chloride. It was sick. As soon as he got back to the office he got to work. He cleared his pin board from the last, solved case and put up Dean's Mugshot in the middle, as a start. He then put up a map near it, and connected all of the locations with the different reports of what crimes he committed there. Attempted murder in St Louis...Sam pinned up the report, raising an eyebrow when it said Dean was reported dead. Obviously not. Then, carefully with string, he connected it with St Louis on the map. Sam did this with the various credit card frauds under his many aliases', J. Mahoggoff, Jerry Garcia, John Smith, Donald Strump, etc. After that, that's where the real work started. He went onto the police database and printed off every single thing even remotely related to Dean Winchester. Even about his Brother, although Dean reported him as missing a few months ago. Anonymously, of course. But the FBI weren't idiots.

The arrogant face looked out at Sam from the screen, his eyes stone cold and his chin tilted up high. He looked like a cocky son of a bitch, he was almost sneering.

**Name:**  Dean Winchester

**DOB:**  January 24th, 1979

**POB:**  Lawrence, Kansas

**Height:**  6' 1"

**Weight:**  175 lbs.

**Hair:**  Brown

**Eyes:**  Brown/Green [Hazel]

_He also had a warrant in St. Louis, MO and an official record in the FBI database._

Sam shut the lid of his laptop, having Dean's eyes watching him was unnerving.

He began to sift through every file he had printed off, and there was a stack about 2 ft high. Shit.

[text] Working late on case. Don't wait up. xx

He sent the text to Jess and shoved the phone back in his pocket, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, loosening his tie.  _ **St Louis, charged with the attempted murder of... Rebecca Warren and the murder of Emily Stanley. Zach Warren originally charged, released.**  _He remembered the photos from that case. Rebecca was tied to a chair, her skin cut all over but that cocky bastard still got away. After that there were the reports of stolen credit cards, and abnormalities in credit card bills. As in a middle aged married woman with children being charged for motels, bars and strip clubs across the country. Sam snorted, classy guy. He drew little circles on all of the places of incident, not seeing an pattern yet but it was worth a try.

 


	2. Milwaukee

Dean became his new obsession. Every morning Sam was early, which was surprising considering how late he came in and how little he slept. He all but lived at the office, and when he came home he spent hours and hours scouring police footage of him. His pin board grew and grew, finding little things that were linked to him that started to show a pattern. A fucking pattern is what Sam had been hoping for this time, that Dean had somehow screwed up and left him traceable because so far they had nothing. No leads on him. It's like he'd vanished.

His intense review of the breaking-and-entering footage was interrupted by Jess' hand on his shoulder. Sam jumped and shut the lid of his laptop, looking up and seeing her pretty pissed off face. "Sam. Bed." She commanded, sounding more like his mother than his fiancé. He rubbed the back of his neck and then his eyes, not realising how tired he was until he yawned heavily. "Exactly. I know this grave-perve case is important but so are you. And you can't do your best on 3 hours of sleep and red bull, Sam." She took his hand and tugged it softly, and Sam stood obediently, following her to their bedroom. "Do I have to undress you and tuck you in or can you do it?" She teased, and Sam pouted playfully and nodded, "I don't think I can do it all by myself, Jessy." Jess rolls her eyes but pulls his t-shirt off from over his head, pushing him down onto the bed because he was already wearing jogging pants. Sam laughs tiredly, pulling the covers up around him as she clambered into bed beside him, and he put one of his big arms around her, pulling her close and burying his face in her hair. He loved Jess, and little things, little moments like this made him remember that. He loved the smell of her shampoo, and the comforting curly craziness of her blonde hair. 

 He was so completely distracted with patterns in his head that he poured coffee on his cereal, sending him and Jess into laughter. He stood after that, picking up his jacket from the couch, kissing Jess gently on the cheek, "Honey, I'll be late if I don't go now. I'll see you tonight." Jess nodded and leant in to softly kiss his lips, leaving sam smiling and glowing as he walked away. "I love you!" Sam called over his shoulder as he walked out of the front door, leaving Jess smiling as she tidied their little kitchen. He opened the door of his car and got inside, slamming the door behind him as he put the key in the ignition and started it. As soon as the car started, so did the radio. His brow furrowed, it was that freakin' awful song by Asia, Heat of the...something. He shrugs and changes the channel, pulling out of the driveway and into the road. Dean didn't crop up in his mind once.

When he got to work he immediately added all of the new data and extracts he refined last night to his slowly growing file of Dean. And, when he checked his e-mail, some of the feelers he had put out had responded. It was only a 2 second clip from some grocery store in Shorewood, Wisconsin. But it was definitely Dean, the man was the right build, and even had on the oversized leather jacket. Sam's eyes glinted with triumph briefly, and he printed off each frame and pinned the location on the board. He was good, he really was. Dean covered his tracks, went back on himself and would take the long way round just so he couldn't be tracked. But Sam was too, hell he was the best damn officer in that building. And if he couldn't lock that Son of a Bitch up for good then no one could. Dean never actually entered the store, but you could see him walk past one of the windows. It was grainy and black and white, but he...he winked at the camera? Sam didn't notice it, or at least it didn't register. ~~Or he didn't want it to register.~~

\------------------

Dean felt like his lungs were gonna explode.

He heard sirens, and he ran. That was now a natural instinct for him. Even if they weren't for him, even though they probably were.

Didn't even think.

He stopped a few minutes later, pressing up against the inside wall of an alleyway, waiting until he could no longer hear them. When the air was silent, he laughed. Dean looked around before stepping out, pulling out his phone - he changed it every other week, and sent a text, his thumb slightly shaking over the keys from the chill in the air.

**Tonight.**

Then, he took the sim card out, flicked open his lighter and melted it before throwing it in a nearby trashcan. Dean dropped the phone onto the floor and crushed under the heel of his heavy boots. He picked up the remnants and stuffed them in the pocket of his leather jacket, checking quickly before walking out into the night. When he reached his motel, true to his word, there was a keycard in his bed, with a note.  _Don't lose it, Idiot._ Dean could practically here the redneck twang in his head as he picked up the paper, crumpling it into a ball and stuffing that also in his pocket. He then went to the tiny bathroom that was surround with damp and mould, and burned the evidence, flushing the ashes down the toilet.

He didn't sleep, he just sat in the chair in the corner, flicking open and shutting his knife. Waiting for the right time. in the silence and darkness, all that could be heard was the constant 'click' 'click' 'click'. 


	3. Too Far

Sam pulled the car over in the middle of the empty road and got out, slamming his hands on the roof of the car. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and put his hands on the back of his head, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to think. He hadn't got any further with the Winchester case in weeks, even though little pieces of evidence popped up daily, his licenseplate caught on camera or the tail end of a leather jacket on a bar's cctv footage. He always tracked him down too late, all the facts adding up too late, and he was always left standing in a crimescene with witnesses giving him the same description of a dark haired, green eyed man with a leather jacket. It was Arson, a couple days ago. Seems like a burnt down a house for the _kick_ of it. What's worst, it disturbed a hornet's nest which killed the family inside before the fire did. "He's sick.." Sam muttered under his breath, the sun beating down on the back of his head, "He's fucking sick." 

He doesn't know when, but Sam managed to get himself together and drive back home, the same face blaring through his head as he did. Before he even opened the door, Jess was there, tugging at his arm and handing him the phone. "Sam, Sam!" She shoved the phone in his hand, "Your office called, and they've got him. They've got Dean." Sam felt numb, it was all he could do to talk the phone and dial the numbers, listening to the ring before someone picked up. "Sam?" Lt. Harvelle asked, a slightly rushed tone to his voice. "Yeah, yeah, it's me. What's happened?" Sam replied quickly, sitting down as Jess came over and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it re-assuredly. He smiled back up at her quickly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We've got him. Murder in Cincinnati, Iowa. Slit a girl's throat." Sam swallowed hard, pushing the image of the smirking face and piercing green eyes out of his head. "Holding him at the station?" He asked in a low voice to which Ash replied, "No, County Jail. Hendricksen's seein' to him." That brought a little comfort to Sam, he was one of the best men they had. "Alright, I'm on my way." Sam ended the call and handed the phone to Jess, who was picking her lip with her teeth. She looked down at him and sighed, taking her hand off his shoulder. "Just go." She mumbled and ran a hand through her hand, walking away. He grabbed her wrist gently and pulled her back to his, initially moving to her lips then deciding to softly kiss her cheek. "I'm sorry I've been working late, but..but when this pyscho is caught it'll end. I promise." She nodded and smiled a little, gently brushing her fingertips along her jaw. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Being face to face with the man he'd been chasing for months was...surreal. Overwhelming. He'd seen mugshots, blurry cctv, but nothing compared to the actual article. He could see the darkness around him, the nochalant posture, the piercing green eyes that seemed to have some kind of heat, some kind of fire behind him. As Sam walked in, Dean's lips drew back across his white, pointed teeth in a smile, resting his arms behind his head and chuckling slightly. Sam tossed the file on the table which was a few inches thick, stuffed with cctv footage, mugshots, arrest warrants, criminal record, birth certificate and anything and everything he could find related to Dean. 

"I assume you know why you're here." Sam said, in a professional, even tone. He sat on the chair across from Dean and templed his fingers, looking up at the other man. This made Dean laugh again. "Yeah. Your little officers caught me in the act... _red handed_.." Sam nodded slightly, "Murder is a serious felony, Mr Winchester, and the-.." Dean cut him off, leaning up and raising an eyebrow, "Call me Dean, sweetheart." Sam cleared his throat as his tongue came out and wet his dry lips before pursing them. "This isn't a matter to be taken lightly, _Dean_ , and there are several other points that need discussing. Fraud.." Sam pulled out a wad of paper from the file and placed it in front of Dean, "Theft and Arson." He repeated the action, pulling out another smaller wad, "..Murder. 2 accounts of the first degree and 2 pending accounts of second." He pulled out another wad and placed it on the table, before pausing and swallowing as he pulled out the next file. "Grave dessecration." Sam stated in a clipped tone, the words feeling wrong in his mouth. Dean smirked at that, casually leafing through the papers. 

"Wanna know why I do it?" 

"Do what?" Sam replied, raising an eyebrow.

"The graves." That wiped the amused, if slightly irritated look off Sam's face which was replaced by a look of mild disgust. "Sure. Enlighten me."

"It really...uh" Dean paused, grinning again before leaning in close to his ear, close enough that Sam could feel his hot breath against his neck, ".. _turns me on_." 

Before Sam could reply an officer came into the room, and Sam pulled away from Dean quickly, standing up and smoothing his jacket. "Wesson, Hendricksen wants you. It's about.." The officer nodded his head in Dean's direction who gave a little wave. Sam rolled his eyes and nodded at the officer who then left shortly after delivering his message, going to leave the room. When he got to the door, he turned back and looked at Dean. "I'll be back. We still have a lot to discuss." Dean smirked and looked up at Sam, "Oh, I don't doubt we do, baby." Sam grit his teeth and turned, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean wink. 

As Sam left, Dean looked up briefly at the security camera and around the room. He was handcuffed to the table, and he pulled them gently to test how far he could actually move. He scanned the room again until his eyes fell on the papers Sam had put in front of him. Files that were paperclipped together. "Ohhh thank you, rookie.." Dean breathed as he pulled the paperclip swiftly out the paper.

\------------------------

"He's gone?" Sam hissed down the phone, looking around the station car park, "What the hell do you mean he's gone?!" Down the phone, Hendricksen replied, "I meant he aint here. I'm not gonna repeat it twice, Wesson. This wasn't my fuck -up, so don't try and blame it on me." Sam let out a heavy sigh of exasperation as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, brushing his hair of his face. "Yeah, you're right. I've been chasing this guy for freakin' months and he's played Houdini on us again. Next time..next time..." Sam paused. What if there wasn't a next time. Dean knew the police were after him, hell, he even probably figured out it was Sam who was working his case. What if they couldn't find him again. "..I-I..I'll uh..I'll call you back if I find anything." Sam said quickly before hanging up, crouching down in the car park and putting his head between his knees. Fuck _fuck_ fuck **shit** fuck, how the **_fuck_** did this happen! _How the **hell**_ did they let him go! Sam was majorly pissed, and the only thing he wanted to do was get home to Jess. As he was driving, he rubbed his neck, still feeling the hot breath and hearing Dean's word's running through his head. He just said it to fuck with you, Sam, he thought. Don't think about it. Just don't. Sam failed miserably and ended up pulling over in a gas station, going into the restroom and jerking off angrily, one hand pressed against the wall as he worked himself, _his_ words, _his_ breath, _his_ face flashing through his mind like a whirlwind. It was too fucking much.

When he'd finished, he wiped himself up and washed his hands, leaving the bathroom and half-heartedly buying a pack of gum from the tender, who was giving him a disinterested look as he gave Sam his change. 

Sam drove the rest of the way home with his body pulsing with guilt, and the seed of something wrong, something so goddamn wrong growing in his stomach.

 

 


	4. Alive

The minor setback of Dean escaping the cell didn't stop Sam from searching. If anything, it spurred him on more. His work hours all but doubled, he'd lost weight through lack of eating, he barely slept and when he did it was just Dean. All Dean, all of the time. Jess... Sam balled his hands into fists and pressed them against his eyes, bleary from watching hours of surveillance footage. Jess had gone to stay with friends for a while. She'd be back soon, or at least that's what he'd been telling himself for the past 2 months. Although he'd never tell a soul and could barely admit it to himself, it was...better with her gone. Not that he didn't miss her like crazy (when he even had time to think about her), but for the month before she left, they didn't speak.

Sam was always out and he started drinking more than she wanted. He knew she'd tried to be supportive and the few times that he was home and they'd had sex, all he could think of was low, sultry tones, a square jaw and piercing green eyes when he came - not her. He knew that was sick, it was fucking wrong but he just wanted to catch that son of a bitch and he didn't care how. He wanted him. Dean knew Sam was still chasing him. After he escaped in their last encounter, he spent weeks in seedy bars and back rooms of clubs trying to find information on the guy...on Wesson. He'd discovered his first name was Sam (Sammy, cute, he thought), he found out about Jess, he learnt from his address and cellphone number to his shoe size and from one particular guy in a bar close to Sam's home, what he **_liked_**. He knew his little quirks, how he organised his files, how he hunted from some guy in Sam's office who was a little too easy to give up information. Now all he had to do was wait. It started small, so small that Sam didn't even notice.

He was sitting alone, absently flicking through a folder in some dive in the middle of nowhere when a waitress came over to get his order, and he lifted his eyes to meet hers. He'd felt nothing for weeks, he'd told himself that was normal because he was missing Jess too much (when in truth, he'd felt nothing when he was still with her the weeks leading up to her leaving, and sometimes had to just fake it) but as soon as he locked on those piercing, emerald green eyes, heat flushed through his body and settled in one very specific place. She was cute, sure. Thin lips, kinda round face and long, black hair, things that by themselves wouldn't of done anything for Sam but those _eyes_. They seemed to sparkle and glint and she watched him, a slight blush creeping up her face as Sam realised he'd been staring at her. "What can I get you?" She asked, a smile in her voice. He dropped his gaze to the menu and half heartedly browsed for a few seconds before licking his lips and looking back, his lips parting in to a predatory grin, and eyebrow raising. "You know what I'd _really_ like?" His voice dropped into a deep rumble.

They fucked hard and fast at the back of the diner, her back pressed against the wall and legs wrapped around his waist as he held her hips with an iron tight grip and thrusted in and out of her. His mouth was pressed against her neck, whispering sin as he moved his body hard and fast and her lips parted and moaned a name that wasn't Sam's as she came.

It was fine, he didn't remember hers either.

The same thing happened a week later, in a bar miles away from the last. He'd just been to a meeting, which achieved nothing and was pretty pointless (just one asshole telling everyone what a shit job they were doing because they hadn't caught Winchester yet), and he was tired and pissed off. He'd found some local place that looked kinda quiet and sat on a stool, loosening his tie. Sam could only see the back of the girl serving as she was tending another customer, a plaid shirt and tiny denim shorts and wavy, sandy blonde hair brushed to one side. He sighed quietly and ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his temples when a voice jolted him back into reality. She was...he couldn't find the right word for her. She looked like the type of girl who could beat the shit out of you, fuck you til you couldn't see straight and could still take home to meet your parents. Her lips were incredible, the bottom full and lush, the top delicate and shaped. Her jaw was squared, yet she still had a heart shaped face, baby hairs wisping at her widow's peak. Her large hazel eyes seemed alive and light up at the sight of Sam, catching her bottom lip between her white, slightly shark like teeth. His eyes fixed on her mouth as she spoke, losing himself in the glossy beauty until he realised she'd stopped talking and he was sitting there staring at her mouth.

He cleared his through and smiled a little, "Sorry, didn't catch that." "I said.." She replied in a raspy, gorgeous voice, "Rough night, cowboy?" He grinned and rubbed his jaw, "Something like that." "I know just the thing that'll help that." She wasn't as easy as green eyes. Turns out her solution was whiskey, and a lot. They drank together until way after closing time, their bodies warm and minds numb, downing the fiery amber liquid like it was water. After that, all it took were a few low, suggestive words murmured in her ear and she grin and cocked an eyebrow, locking the bar and leading him to her apartment a few minutes away.

By the time they reached the bed, their mouths were red and swollen from kissing and Sam had lost his shirt somewhere along the way. She pushed him onto the bed, hands explored his smooth, muscular chest as she straddled his hips, his large hands resting on her tiny waist. She unbuttoned her shirt slowly and dropped it to the floor, and Sam's hands slid up her back to unhook her bra, dropping it next to the shirt. He leant forward and ran his lips over her collarbone and chest before taking a nipple in his mouth and teasing it gently with his tongue before biting down softly, hearing a breathy moan escape her perfect goddamn mouth. She stood up and slid her shorts to the ground and Sam leant forward and hooked his thumbs into the side of her panties. "You know.." He breathed gently along her skin as he kissed her hip bones, "I never asked your name." She smiled a little and sighed as he bit into the soft skin of her thigh. "Dana." She replied, biting down lightly on her bottom lip as he slid her panties to the floor and traced her inner thigh with his fingertips, "And I don't think I asked yours either." Her name made his heart jump slightly, stomach clench and flutter and warmth spread to his groin, blood rushing south. "S-Sam.." He replied shakily as he exhaled, smiling up at her. The corner of her lips turned up again as she dropped to her knees, her hands unbuttoning and unzipping his black suit pants and pulling them off his legs, his boxers following quickly. She knelt either side of his thighs, his head level with her breasts, and grabbed the base of his cock, jacking him slowly with long strokes. He groaned and his hips lifted into her hand as she guided his cock to her already slick entrance.

He stopped her for a moment, eyes concerned and she simply shook her head and smiled. "I want to feel you come inside me." Her head snapped back, eyes closed and lips parted as she wrapped her arms around his neck, taking what ever he gave her. His hands moved from her waist to her breasts, pinching and tugging at the nipples as she moved her hands to grip his shoulders and pounded herself up and down on his thick, slicked cock. His hands trailed down her chest and stomach until it reached in between her legs. His index finger slid gently between her wet folds until he found the hard nub, which made her shudder, her rhythm stuttering and her body clenching around him as she moaned heavily. He picked up rhythm massaging and rubbing it, and every time she clenched around him he was so much closer to coming. He pinched and rubbed her viciously, her moans mixing with a cry of pain and she clenched one final time, the both of them coming together as she rode him.

He didn't even remember where she lived the next morning.


	5. Alone

The first time Sam took a guy home, that he remembered. It felt wrong, the stubble scratching his chin as they licked and nipped at each others mouths in the alleyway behind the only bar Sam could find in town, which turned out to be a gay bar. Drew wasn't as tall as Sam but he was tall, and stocky. His inky black hair flopped over his forehead and fell a little past his ears, and his wide green eyes were full of just...fun. It felt weird, being with someone who could match his strength and who's muscles he could feel under his shirt as he desperately clawed at his back. Sam's head hit the wall hard as Drew went down on him, breathing heavily and watching the air leave his mouth, _fuck_ , he didn't even notice how cold it was. His hips jerked forwards and into Drew's expert mouth, and Sam's large hand moved to run through Drew's hair and eventually knot in the back, pushing him further onto his cock. Drew looked up and smirked, his eyes sparkling as he took Sam as far and he could, causing Sam to come down the other man's throat as an almost silent moan passed his lips.

"... _ **Dean**_..."

Drew didn't seem to care, whimpering deliciously as his face was pressed against the brick wall and Sam pushed up inside of his body.

After Green Eyes, Dana, Leanne, Anya and Drew, Sam lost count of how many bodies he'd felt, how many hands had touched him. None of it was enough, it wasn't...right. He knew what he wanted, he knew who.

The last one.. he'd been so close. Brown hair, slightly long and messy, full lips, a proud nose and killer jawline, but blue eyes. It was always the eyes that made Sam need them. But still, it didn't stop Sam from bending him over the sink in the bathroom as their breath fogged up the mirrors. Sam caught a glimpse of his own reflection and disgust churned in the bottom of his stomach, so he closed his eyes and moved to the suck the skin of the other man's shoulders.

When Sam came out of the bathroom, shirt crumpled and hair tangled, he moved to the darkest corner of the bar. He sat in the uncomfortable seat, heart still racing and body aching from a few minutes before when he heard the familiar sound of his phone in his pocket. It was a blocked number, which normally sprang up all kinds of warning signs, but Sam accepted it anyway.

"It's me. Let's meet. Alone." 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

He'd been thinking it over for days. The more and more he learnt about Wesson, the more he wanted...he wanted to hunt him. Because that's what he did. His life would be uneventful, starting fires and digging graves to get through until he found them. That's the way he worked. That's how he found his kills.

It would normally be at first sight, he would see them and instantly his animalistic, hunting instinct would kick him and he _**had**_ to waste them. But it wasn't like that with Sam. Dean had been conflicted, sure the instinct was there and he could feel it eating away in the back of his mind, the warm tar slipping through his body and his bones, making him feel alive, but there was something else, something that stopped him following Sam down to his home and strangling him in his bed. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the call was over, as quickly as it had started, Sam stood up hurriedly out of his seat, ignoring the rest of the people as he rushed out, his large frame awkwardly avoiding the objects busy room. He felt blood rush to his cheeks, and he could hear his heart pounding. He got to his car, unlocking it with shaking hands and sliding into the drivers seat. His breath become shallow as he pressed his palm against his crotch, begging his body not to betray him as he tried to clear his head. 

He couldn't do this, he couldn't meet him alone. He had to tell the station about this... Sam paused in thought, but what would that do? If he was Winchester, that phone would be destroyed and gone, and he'd be in a different state to the one he made the call in. But.. if he met Dean, maybe there was some was they could arrest him again? Lay some kind of trap. In his gut, he knew that Dean was no moron and that he'd know about the plans before they were even final. If he was really going to do this, then he would have to do it alone. Sam sighed heavily, and thought back to the brief call.

'It's me', so brief and so fucking _casual_. Sure, it stops him being directly identified if the call was recorded, but Dean made it sound like they'd know each other for years.

Sam forced his hands from his jeans on to the steering wheel and drove back to his home with his knuckles white, teeth digging into his lip as he tried to think of anything else.


	6. Denial

After a lot of deliberation, Sam decided to go through with it. He'd thought about backing out dozens of times, about giving the case to someone else and staying away from everything to do with Dean. But then he thought about Dean, his stupid fucking pet names, his easy confidence and how when he talked, he seemed to be able to make everything sound dirty, and it changed his mind. Sure he felt guilty about it, I mean this guy was a murderer and sick, but he switched off his brain and let his body take over, and his body was screaming only one thing. Dean. 

Dean had picked the place, a dingy bar in a town he'd never heard of in a run down city, the type Sam would only been in for two things, sex and arrests. As he sat in the slightly sticky seat, finger tracing the rim of his glass, he thought again about just leaving. He knew this was crazy, and that despite the plan he had in his head and cuffs in his pocket he didn't feel safe, he didn't feel he could trust himself. Doubt and guilt lay heavy in his gut as he raised the glass to his lips and swallowed, the water settling his stomach slightly. Normally he would drink, but he was on a job after all and he wanted to try and keep himself sober as possible, in every way. It was 11pm, and Sam's eyes kept glancing to the clock as the hours crawled by until it was 2 am, and Sam had finally decided to give it. It was a dumb idea anyway, and this was probably for the best. He stood, brushing down his front, moving to step of his booth until he heard a voice behind him. 

"Leaving so soon, sweetheart?" He could hear the smirk through his voice, and Jesus it pissed him off. Sam turned, swallowing as his jaw clenched and unclenched, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Winchester." He acknowledged Dean with a nod, motioning for them to sit down. "So considerate of you to honour me with some of your precious time." Sam remarked, sarcasm dripping from his words as he shook his head slightly and only then did he look up at Dean. His lip was split and there was bruises forming around his eye and jaw, and he grinned as he noticed Sam's eyes widen and tongue creep out to wet his lips. Sam looked away quickly, swallowing as he ran a hand through his hair. "So, Winchester," He looked up again, meeting Dean's amused eyes, "Why did you want to see me?" He asked, head cocked in question. Dean chuckled slightly, the corner of his mouth turning up. "We didn't uh...get off to the best start, did we Sammy?" Sam jerked a tiny amount at that, unnoticeable to onlookers but Dean's sharp eyes were observing every movement of his body. Knowing he'd got a reaction out of him, he continued. "I feel like it was all about me, and I wanna know about you."

Sam looked confused for a second, and so Dean continued. "Alright, then I'll tell you what I already know. Samuel Winchester, born May 2nd 1983. Mommy died when you were 6 months old.." Dean shakes his head in mock sympathy, "So sad. On the road with your Father since then. Went to a school psychologist several times where you described vivid nightmares.." Dean laughed, soft and dangerous, "Of monsters, ghosts and demons. They never found out what caused them". Sam paled, the words taking him back to being 9 years old again, waking up screaming as his dad came running in. His dad rocking him and repeating, 'it's okay Sammy, it's okay. It's not real. It's ok Sammy.' He hated it, he hated being terrified to fall asleep, he hated scaring his father who was still angry and overly cautious after his Mom died. Dean knew he'd hit a nerve, his smile widening as he continued, "High school teachers described little Sammy as 'reclusive' and 'internally isolated'. And this carried on for years until your acceptance to Stanford." Dean paused, his smile never fading, "Have I missed anything?" 

Sam gave his a look of utter loathing. "Stop." His tone was low and dangerous, but Dean just raised his eyebrows, eyes still glinting with humour. "And then enters Jessica.." Dean tried to start again, until Sam leant forward until their faces were inches apart. "I said.." He breathed, eyes dark and angry, "Stop." Dean's smile faltered slightly, his eyes scanning Sam's. "Hmm...Jessy a touchy subject?" Dean asked, equally as quiet, not moving away from Sam. Sam grinded his teeth, before speaking. "Ok, enough about me. Let's talk about you. Hmm... let's see.." He feigned thought, "Seems like your 'mommy' died when you were 4, in a house fire." Sam tilted his head slightly, "And your Father went missing soon after that. Couldn't wait to get rid of you, huh? Shipped you off to some guy, Bobby Singer." Dean bared his teeth, and his face turned angry, a pleasant change in Sam's eyes from that smug, self satisfied look he always seemed to wear. He didn't have to say anything, Sam knew he'd touched a nerve. But unlike Dean, he wasn't a sadist and so didn't stay on the subject. "First crime committed when you were 16, for stealing peanut butter and bread." Sam smirked, "Started pretty early, don't ya think?" Dean smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes which still looked...distant. Sam paused for a second and tried to identify it, but it was gone as soon as it arrived. He continued talking, one of his hands which was in a cuff deliberately staying under the table and waiting for his time to get the other on Dean, but he didn't know how to approach it. He had an idea, but didn't know if it would work.

Sam's face changed from matter of fact to something else, something sly and suggestive that he'd used a lot these past few months. "So...Dean.." He said in a low tone, eyes flicking back to the other man's, "No matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find anything about your..." Sam smirked, "Hook-ups." Dean laughed at that, low and throaty. "Well, I'm a private man Sammy, unlike you." Sam's smile widened, knee moving under the table to gently slide between Dean's legs. It was only a small amount, but enough that Dean could feel his body pressing against his thighs. "Oh yeah?" He breathed, lips moving to wet his lips again. Dean's jaw lifted, mouth curving into a smile. "Yeah. See you've moved into the more...aggressive way of doing things." Sam quirked an eyebrow, hand briefly moving and touching Dean's knee before returning to his lap. "Is that all?" Dean shook his head slightly, smiling almost in disbelief. "The women - and men - you've been fucking...can't say I don't see a resemblance." Sam laughed breathily, his teeth gently biting into his bottom lip. "Yeah?" He whispered in almost a moan until he felt Dean's hand rest on his thigh. 

As quickly as he could, he attached the cuff to Dean's wandering wrists, chaining them to his wrist as he stood and his façade dropped, his face flattening into neutrality. Dean looked somewhat impressed. "Dean Winchester.." Sam stated, "You are under arrest for escaping custody. Upon returning, you will be questioned about y.." Sam stopped in his words, as Dean stood and lifted his shirt slightly, and he saw a mother of pearl handle and felt the shape of a gun digging into his sharp hips. "You really wanna do this, baby?" Dean questioned, voice low and playful as he tilted his head so his lips were against Sam's ear. "You can try to play me, but I know what you really want." Sam moaned so quietly it could of been mistaken for a breath, and heat rushed to his stomach and groin as he stood frozen, unsure of his next move. "Mmm..yeah..that's what I thought." Dean breathed, lips trailing down the shell of Sam's hair, which made Sam jolt into action, moving quickly out of the bar via the back door, dragging Dean along with the cuffs. 

When they were outside in the alley, Sam took a few breaths before speaking again. "You don't want to do this, Dean." He said, in a steady voice, eyes gesturing towards his gun. "I have to take you in, you really wanna get life? Or y'know, death row?" Dean smirked, advancing on Sam and forcing his back against the wall. "Darlin'.." Dean drawled, face close to Sam's, "I think we both know that that aint gonna happen." He moves forwards, hips pressing against Sam's. "You really wanna see me go to Jail?" He asked, head tilted, "You really wanna stop _chasing_ me?" Dean breathed against the skin of Sam's neck. 

"Fuck.." Sam whispered as his body betrayed him, and blood rushed south. He knew Dean would be able to feel it, and evidently he did. Dean's eyes widened and he smirked, moving to run his lips up the length of Sam's long, smooth neck lightly. He could feel Sam's heart racing as he bared his teeth, dragging them like tiny blades along his shoulder and again up his neck. Sam groaned and grabbed Dean's hips, pulling him close and grinding against him, and a few seconds after there was the click of the handcuffs unlocking and Sam shoved Dean away, running his hands through his hand and breathing hard, which looked like smoke in the cold night. "There.." Sam said, keeping a distance between them. "You got what you wanted. But I can't do _that_." Sam struggled to find the words as rubbed his neck where Dean's lips had been, "I can't Dean, it's wrong, I can't." Dean raised his eyebrows, eyes flicking to Sam's obvious erection pressing against the crotch of his black suit pants. "Well.." He laughed, "It sure looks like it felt right." 

Sam pressed his palm against his crotch, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I uh.." He scrabbled in his pocket for pen and paper, and found an old receipt and a  stub of a pencil, and he scribbled on it quickly before handing it to Dean. "My private cell." He explained, before turning quickly and walking away from the other man, reaching his car and getting inside, locking the doors before he allowed himself to relax. He drove all of the way home with one hand pressed against his crotch, willing himself to calm down enough for it to fade but it was no use. As soon as he got inside his home, he locked the door and almost ran to the bathroom, stripping and getting under the stream of hot water. His neck still tingled where he felt the shadow of full lips and sharp teeth, and he rubbed his neck again, before his hand trailed down his chest and stomach to wrap around his flushed, achingly hard cock. He jerked himself off quickly, one hand pressed against the wall of the shower as he shut his eyes and bit into his lip, imagining it wasn't his own large hand wrapped around himself, and that the lips and teeth were still heavy and persistent against his neck.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean looked down at the scrap of paper and smiled a little before shoving it into the pocket of his old, beaten leather jacket. It had almost been too easy to convince Sam to let him go, he thought. But even if he couldn't admit to himself that the whole encounter had not been purely to free himself, his body and the growing lump in the crotch of his jeans could persuade him.  


End file.
